


The Hard Way

by Roundworm



Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: Ah and I almost forgot again, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, I actually tried not to directly describe it but, I mean you can tell what happened, Infidelity, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Surprise Kissing, The whole time I was writing this I desperately wanted to shoehorn my shitty humor into it, Will tries man he tries, briefly, but I really couldn’t, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:07:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22951519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roundworm/pseuds/Roundworm
Summary: “Scho, I—“ Blake choked back his tears. “I looked into his fucking eyes, Scho, I—I saw him—“ Will held on tighter and pulled him closer, surrounded him with all of his limbs as if he could bodily shield the younger man from the rest of the world.God knows he would if he could.
Relationships: Tom Blake/William Schofield
Comments: 6
Kudos: 133





	The Hard Way

**Author's Note:**

> Blake learns the hard way how terrible war can be
> 
> If y’all have read/seen All Quiet on the Western Front........ y’all know
> 
> Scho’s POV 👍 still workin on him

“I— I had t-to,” There was that look in his eyes. Will knew it too well, he’d seen it in every single soldier, and he’d prayed that it would never darken Blake’s. Oh God, how he’d prayed, and it was all for nothing. “I had to, I—“

Will gathered the man—the boy—in his arms and held him. “I know.” He clenched his jaw as he felt Blake’s hands, trembling and bloodstained and so, so small, clutch at Will’s back. “I know you did, I know.” 

He wanted to yell, to blame somebody, anybody, for this—this useless, empty war. This disgusting, meaningless war that dragged young boys out of the safety of their homes and threw them at other young boys. That shoved rifles into their hands, helmets onto their heads, and told them to fight for their lives.

“Scho, I—“ Blake choked back his tears. “I looked into his fucking eyes, Scho, I—I saw him—“ Will held on tighter and pulled him closer, surrounded him with all of his limbs as if he could bodily shield the younger man from the rest of the world.

God knows he would if he could.

“You had to.” He reminded Blake, uselessly. 

“But why?! Why did I have to?!”

Will sucked in a breath through his teeth. He didn’t have an answer for that. Why indeed? Because the enemy would kill him first? Well, why did THEY have to? And why were they the enemy? Aren’t they all just men? Blake sobbed, loudly, too loudly.

“Shut up, you! Just shut up!” One of the younger soldiers in the dugout snapped. A private, must have been in the new group of volunteers. His voice shook with unspoken terror. Will pressed Blake’s face into his chest to dampen the noise. He shushed him gently, the way he quieted down his own children, tucked his chin over Blake’s head.

The first time was always the hardest. Will knew all too well. 

________________________

They got a short leave the next morning, in a small French village that was nearly abandoned at this point. Tomorrow, the 8th would be transported back to the front line, but for now the soldiers ate and drank and rested as much as they could. Blake hovered by Will’s elbow the entire time, hollowed out and unable to joke around with the more seasoned men like he used to.

Shamefully, Will prayed that Blake would get used to it soon, if only to bring a part of him back, even if it was only a facade. 

The others milled about, bumped into each other and laughed, pushed each other around, acting for all the world like there wasn’t a care to be had. Will slipped out of the bar only a few minutes in. Blake silently followed, like a shadow.

They wandered the streets for a while, not a word spoken between them. At one time, Will might have rejoiced that Thomas “Running Mouth” Blake was quiet for once, but it was eerie. It was wrong. He turned down an alleyway, the cobblestone still wet with yesterday’s rain, when Blake held fast on his arm, stopping Will in his tracks.

“Ye—“ Will was shoved, hard, and found himself pressed against the brick wall of the building to his right. He forgot sometimes how strong Blake was. Even with a few inches of height on him, Will felt a bit small underneath the boy’s gaze. He had to be the adult, he really had to stop this before things went the way that he was expecting them to. “Blake,”

Blake tugged Will’s head down without a word and crushed their lips together with the kind of desperation expected from a man who hadn’t seen another human being in a hundred years. His fingers gripped at Will’s hair, cropped short in a proper military style. He really, really had to stop this. 

Will pulled Blake up closer by the lapels of his uniform and tilted his head to the side just slightly, attempting to soften the kiss—or to at least avoid cracking their teeth together again. At the sound of even the smallest noise from the road beyond, Will pushed him back. Blake whined, high and panicky in the back of his throat, and leaned forward again.

Will turned his head towards the street, bracing his forearm across Blake’s chest, to watch a lone newspaper blow past. He waited a few more seconds, just to be safe. By the time he turned back, though, Blake had completely deflated against his arm. 

He was saying something for the first time in hours, but Will wasn’t sure what it was.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” The words finally reached his ears. His heart broke. “I’m sorry, Schofield, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please don’t tell,”

Will was afraid to pull his arm back, afraid that Blake would totally fall apart at the loss of contact, even if the contact wasn’t the most appealing.

“Blake.” Will breathed, gentle and pleading, wishing that the boy would just look up at him already. “Blake, it’s alright.” 

Blake’s shoulders heaved, tears began to roll down his face. “No, no, I’m sorry, I— you’re—“

Married. Will was married. To a woman. But he knew, he knew what it was like, to want to feel people—to touch their face and their skin and feel the rhythm of their heart, to know that they’re alive. Will understood, and it was alright, he was alright. 

Will removed his forearm from Blake’s chest, only to cradle his face between his hands and pull him in again. He never was very good with words anyway.

Blake’s lips still trembled against his own, as did his hands which found themselves now clutching at Will’s sleeves. He rubbed his thumb along Blake’s cheekbone, just beginning to show against the lack of food on the frontline. Blake deserved to have a round, soft face, the one that he’d arrived with.

They stayed together like this for what felt like hours, and it very well might have been. Will couldn’t remember when they’d sunken to the ground, but on the ground they sat. Blake had gotten a hand into Will’s undershirt at some point, couldn’t remember when that happened either, but it only stayed in one spot on his chest; over his heart. 

Will pulled him back eventually, when Blake’s limbs began to grow heavier and his kisses tired. He whined again, half-heartedly, but he didn’t even bother to open his eyes. Will shushed him, pressed another kiss to his forehead and two more to the drying tears down his cheeks.

“I’m here.” He said, quietly. “I’m still here.” Blake crumbled against Will’s chest and buried his face into the crook of his neck. He pressed a grateful kiss there, against his shoulder, and was gently snoring in seconds. The way that Blake’s wrist was twisted to remain over Will’s heart couldn’t have been very comfortable, but he didn’t want to move the boy. Not when he’s finally sleeping after his first face-to-face encounter with a German soldier. 

Will let his head fall back against the building and didn’t allow his eyelids to droop. At least one of them needed to be on the lookout—even though it wasn’t uncommon for soldiers to be a bit touchy-feely with each other, he hadn’t seen any lap straddling yet. He didn’t want to push their luck.

When the sun comes up, it will be back to the trenches. Back to the shelling and the ducking and the rain of dirt over their heads. To the screaming, the blood, the senseless death over land that wasn’t theirs. Will prayed, not for the first time, that it would be over soon.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m sad too man, I’m sad too


End file.
